The precise explanations of the Chanmyay method loop in my mind, making me question every movement and sensation as I struggle to stay present. It’s 2:04 a.m. and the floor feels colder than it should. I’m sitting with a blanket around my shoulders even though it’s not really cold, just that late-night chill that gets into your bones if you stay still too long. My neck’s stiff. I tilt it slightly, hear a soft crack, then immediately wonder if I just broke mindfulness by moving. I find the mental judgment far more taxing than the actual stiffness.
The looping Echo of "Simple" Instructions
I am haunted by the echoes of Satipatthana lectures, their structure playing on a loop. Observe this. Know that. Be clear. Be continuous. The instructions sound easy until you are alone in the dark, trying to bridge the gap between "knowing" and "doing." Without a teacher to anchor the method, the explanations feel slippery, leaving my mind to spiral into second-guessing.
I attempt to watch the breath, but it feels constricted and jagged, as if resisting my attention. A tightness arises in my ribs; I note it, then instantly wonder if I was just being mechanical or if I missed the "direct" experience. This pattern of doubt is a frequent visitor, triggered by the high standards of precision in the Chanmyay tradition. Precision turns into pressure when no one’s there to correct you.
Knowledge Evaporates When the Body Speaks
There’s a dull ache in my left thigh. Not intense. Just persistent. I stay with it. Or I try to. The mind keeps drifting off to phrases I’ve read before, things about direct knowing, bare awareness, not adding stories. A quiet chuckle escapes me, and I immediately try to turn that sound into a meditative object. Sound. Vibration. Pleasant? Neutral? Who knows. It disappears before I decide.
I spent some time earlier reviewing my notes on the practice, which gave me a false sense of mastery. Sitting now, that confidence is gone. Knowledge evaporates fast when the body starts complaining. The physical reality of my knee is far more compelling than any diagram. I search for a reason for the pain, but the silence offers no comfort.
The Heavy Refusal to Comfort
I catch my shoulders tensing toward my ears; I release them, only for the tension to return moments later. The breath stutters. I feel irritation rising for no clear reason. I recognize it. Then I recognize recognizing it. I grow weary of this constant internal audit. This is the "heavy" side of the method: it doesn't give you a hug; it just gives you a job. The teachings don't offer reassurance; they simply direct you back to the raw data of the moment.
I hear the high-pitched drone of an insect. I hold my position, testing my resolve, then eventually I swat at it. I feel a rapid sequence of irritation, relief, and regret, but the experience moves faster than my ability to note it. That realization lands quietly, without drama.
Experience Isn't Neat
Satipatthana sounds clean when explained. Four foundations. Clear categories. But experience isn’t neat. It check here overlaps. I can't tell where the "knee pain" ends and the "irritation" begins. My thoughts are literally part of my stiff neck. I make an effort to stop the internal play-by-play, but my ego continues its commentary regardless.
Against my better judgment, I look at the clock. Eight minutes have passed. Time passes whether I watch it or not. The ache in my thigh shifts slightly. The shift irritates me more than the ache itself. I wanted it stable. Predictable. Observationally satisfying. Instead, it remains fluid, entirely unconcerned with my spiritual labels.
The "explanations" finally stop when the physical sensations become too loud to ignore. Heat. Pressure. Tingling. Breath brushing past the nose. I stay with what’s loudest. My mind drifts and returns in a clumsy rhythm. There is no breakthrough tonight.
I don't have a better "theory" of meditation than when I started. I am simply present in the gap between the words of the teachers and the reality of my breath. I am sitting in the middle of this imperfect, unfinished experience, letting it be exactly as it is, because reality doesn't need my approval to be real.